


Sweet of You

by nakadoo



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, ill quench my own thirst, im so thirsty for eridave my guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 14:25:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12683721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nakadoo/pseuds/nakadoo
Summary: Even when drunk Mr. Dave Strider is smooth and cool like ice.





	Sweet of You

**Author's Note:**

> henlo my spelling is atrocious and i typed this on my phone without auto correct so sorry ill fix it later

Your name is Dave Strider and you don't usually let yourself get blackout drunk but your best friend John Egbert visited for the first time ever for a week and now he's gone and now you're sad and miserable because you're lonely without him around.

It's not as if you don't have other friends or anything. You have a lot actually, you're plenty popular, people flock to you despite your aloof attitude, but you've know John since you were both looser tweenagers figuring things out together despite the barrier of miles and miles and miles and only the internet to keep you connected.

Your head is pounding the next day and though your eyes are closed you can feel the warmth of the sun baring on your face and you roll over because you fry like bacon even with the tiniest sliver of sunlight. Its chilly as fuck though out of the sun so you burrow deeper into your sheets to seek out warmth. It is kind of pathetic to be moping about your best friends departure when you're already 22 but he is your dearest friend and there is no one around to witness your less-than-cool display at the moment.

You mentally map the way to your medicine cabinet, emotionally preparing yourself for the cold treck from your room to the bathroom.

You jump though at the feel of chilly fingers brushing against your cheek. Your hand grabs for your shades on the night stand where they always are no matter how ineberated you get the day before and slip them on to look at this mystery person in your home.

"Here," the stranger says in a soft voice, pushing a glass to your chest and a couple of advils pressed against your palm. "You're lookin' worse than me."

You stare at him because he looks disheveled, like he just woke up from a rough night of dancing and drinking, and then some, but somehow still attractive. Tasetefully disheveled, in fact. You wonder how long he's been awake. You take what he offers though because it would be a little awkward if you left him hanging for too long. "Who...?" You down the pills and swallow some water.

He looks back at you with a tilt of his head. You cant understand the meaning behind it; he looks mildly curious and partly like he's waiting for a punchline. His eyes blink owlishly at you for two seconds and you realize that you have possibly made a big mistake.

"I'm sorry," you blurt out. You realize you're shirtless. You realize he's wearing the weird ass christmas sweater Rose made for you a few years ago, cheerfully decorated with phalluses of various sizes. Its your favorite sweater. "I blanked out. I don't remember anything from last night. Was this a one night stand?" Your name is Dave Strider and you are nothing but blunt and honest.

He gives you a weird look again, eyes blinking slowly as he registers your words. Maybe he's as confused as you are, maybe he was as drunk as you were the night before but he's got too much clarity in his eyes. "Oh, no. It wasn't anythin' like that," he assures you, both hands raised and waving in dismissal near his body at chest level. "You were really fuckin' drunk," he explains with a fond looking smile that looks just as charming. "I was halfway there but ya' mentioned that you lived nearby so I walked ya home."

"You did?" you ask. Judging by the fact that you were home, and so was he, you probably accepted hisboffer just like he said. You're surprised you did since you usually don't let anyone up into your pad. It's too messy and too ladened with layers of interests that people might think odd; swords and dead birds and ironic photographs and your gear everywhere. You're suprised he found water, there are only swords in your fridge.

"Mmm," he affirms. "I was aboutta leave you at your door but you invited me to stay."

Again you are surprised. You didn't think you were the clingy type. You've never let yourself get drunk to the point of blank zero honesty filter, and blackout memory the next day.

He sits down finally, at the edge of your bed, and he grins at you all pearly whites and crinckles at the side of his eyes, dimples so deep it would put Edgar Allen Poe to shame. "You told me you were scared for me since its too dangerous to go out all by my lonsome so late at night. It was really sweet a' you, so I decided to stay."

Your face feels warm. That has to be the most embarrassing thing you have said. You know he's probably not lying because despite what people may say, you do care and you do worry. It really can get dangerous around your area and if you could have helped it you probably would have walked him home instead of the otherway around. "Did anything...?"

"No," he says again. "You just lent me somethin' warm to wear, it's hideous by the way," he looks down at said hideous favorite sweater.

He takes the glass from your hand, brushes his knuckles against your cheek. His skin is ice cold against your probably pink face.

"Thought you might've gotten sick," he explains. "You were really warm last night."

"Pardon?" you ask. You are a man of many words. Usually. Not right now. This guy, this stranger, you're pretty sure you somehow wooed him and you don't remember any of it. Honestly though you're feeling pretty wooed yourself. He's so pretty.

"Well I couldn't very well sleep on your couch," he huffs but not irritably. "Just how many swords do you own? Is this even legal?"

"I own all of them. All of the swords."

He scoffs. "A'course ya do. When I brought that up last night you offered your bed. An' I'm hopin I ain't soundin' too rude but you really need to get your heater fixed cause it was fuckin' cold as the Alps last night."

"I... I see..."

"Don't look so troubled, I didn't mind it. I hope you didn't mind?"

You were quite toasty in your sleep. Very comfortable until the last few minutes before you woke up. Now that you think about it you probably woke up because he left the bed. "Get back in here," you say and tug at his arm. He lets you manhandle him back under the duvet, and you're glad he presses himself against you.

"Just don't know how you managed to sleep without a shirt on," he mumbles. You're not much taller than he is but there is a noticeable hight difference. And he fits perfectly against you, tucks himself under your chin comfortably.

"What's your name?" You ask. Because what the fuck you don't even know his name.

"Eridan," he tells you. "You don't gotta tell me yours. You wouldn't stop tellin' me who you were mister Dave Strider."

You ignore his last statement. "Well Eridan, after a few more minutes of sleep do you maybe want to go get some brunch with me?"

He looks pleased by the question. You're glad. "I'd like that. 'sides, I was gonna make you breakfast in bed an' be all cute and shit but I couldn't find your pans."

You snort and relish in the warmth of another body for a few more minutes.

**Author's Note:**

> LMAO SO THIS WAS ALSO BASED ON A DREAM I HAD JUST LAST NIGHT AND HONESTLY IT WAS CUTE. I WAS DAVE IN THE DREAM


End file.
